


less than null

by iamsolarflare



Series: just an ordinary foot soldier [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Null Sector, because fuckin ay the oc in this works for WHATEVER THE FUCK IT'S CALLED, is this canon or an au? fuck iunno, it's whatever, probably if i write any more slate stuff i'll just have him call it the Eye, when does sombra's eye conspiracy get a name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 03:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsolarflare/pseuds/iamsolarflare
Summary: Some guy tries to join Null Sector, for some reason.





	less than null

**Author's Note:**

> BOY HOWDY is this old. you may recognize it from tumblr it was cross-posted to my art blog (link is http://transisstor.tumblr.com/post/160091915814/)
> 
> there's not really a lot of context you need for this one if you're aware of null sector then YEP YEAH YOU'RE GOOD

It’s quiet. Quiet, and dark, and still.

Nobody’s out at this time of night, not these days. Even the Omnics wait for their next orders; even Blackwatch pauses, all hushed voices and superstition.

It’s the witching hour, and nothing with even a shred of a soul would be out and moving.

There’s a solitary figure, though, crossing the roofs of the city - leaping, rolling, landing silently and gracefully. Not an Omnic, but headed for their nest.

The figure lands in front of a large warehouse, decorated with glowing graffiti - the most recognizable piece being the large purple 0 across the doors.

Null Sector. The radicals, the loose cannons. Heaven knows what they’d do to him if they caught him out here, but there’s only one way to find out.

He steels himself, takes in a breath of the cold night air - not too big of one, of course, and slows his breathing, calms himself.

It’s just another job.

There is nothing here. No uncertainty, no unknowns that could ruin this perfect equation. He is the mask he wears, and the mask this time is calculated movements and precise measuring.

The job is his mask, and vice versa. Nothing else.

He raises a hand and bangs on the large metal doors, just once, with the flat of his palm. The sound of it echoes across the streets, but is quickly drowned out by metal whirring and stomping from all directions.

He counts five exact seconds before he is completely surrounded by alert sentry turrets, guns at the ready, and a mechanical hand pulls him by the collar and holds him there.

He stares up at the Omnic, taking in every aspect. The glowing yellow eyes, the purple and dark, dark grey of the Null Sector colors, the many scratches in the paint job. This one’s been through a lot.

_IDENTIFY YOURSELF._

The job begins. He looks the Omnic directly in the eyes, focusing his vision, making eye contact and not breaking it, not for a second. He’s faintly aware that an ordinary person would hear their heart in their throat right now, be practically flooded with adrenaline, but he wouldn’t be here if he were ordinary... or if he were a person.

“I’m nothing.” His voice doesn’t waver from a monotone - it’s cold and clean and it cuts through the night, not loud enough for others to hear but not soft enough to go unheard.

The Omnic stares back, unmoved. If it were capable of human expressions, perhaps it would be glaring - or, maybe, grinning. Omnic psychology isn’t something he’s bothered to look into, so he can’t really tell.

_STATE YOUR BUSINESS._

He gives the Omnic the barest hint of a smile, raising an eyebrow as he does so.

“I'm here,” he says, “to work for you.”

The Omnic tilts its head to the side in a universal expression of confusion; he, however, keeps smiling the same faint smile. There is silence for the longest time, save for the soft hum of the Omnic’s equipment and heart.

He waits for it to speak.

 _YOU ARE HUMAN,_  it finally says.  _NULL SECTOR DOES NOT WORK WITH HUMANS. WE ARE ENEMIES._

“You raise a good point,” he responds calmly. The tug on his shirt collar is becoming mildly annoying, but he doesn't fidget, he barely even moves at all. “But I'm not a human.”

Another long period of silence; another stretch of time where neither of them say anything. Again, the Omnic breaks the silence.

_YOU HAVE VITAL SIGNS._

“Yes.”

_YOU ARE AN INTELLIGENT CREATURE._

“I’d like to think so, yes.”

_YOU ARE MADE OF FLESH AND BLOOD._

“Mostly. I’ve been augmented a couple of times.” He’s surprised at how naturally this line comes out of him; how easy it is to sum up the years of experimentation and pain in two sentences. How all of it can be shrugged off with a bit of a rueful smile and a calm demeanor.

The Omnic cocks its head to the side again.  _YET YOU CLAIM YOU ARE NOT HUMAN._

“I’m not anything,” he responds. “Not yet.”

_EXPLAIN._

He takes a breath - barely audible or visible to the untrained eye, although he’s sure the Omnic notices - and the smile falls off his face as he snaps back to the cold, emotionless, professional mask.

“I’m a weapon.”

He doesn’t say anything else. There’s not anything else to say.

_SO YOU OFFER YOUR SERVICES?_

He nods silently, still making eye contact, still completely calm and composed.

The Omnic lets go of his collar, drops it carelessly, and he takes a single step back, changing his balance and his posture. A wide stance, feet apart, arms by the sides and palms turned upwards, and the bitter smile on his face ever so slightly more visible than before. His eyes glint yellow in what little light there is.

“You’re better than humans in many regards. But a lot of you can’t improvise or change tactics on the fly, you’re built for one purpose and you have to stick to it.”

Not taking his eyes off the Omnic for a second, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small red case. It’s a matter of instinct at this point - he doesn’t even have to look at the multi-tool as he flips out several of the different instruments it holds.

“I’m like this. Maybe not as good at you at any one thing, but I’m a bit better at doing several things.”

He pushes the instruments back into the tool, flips it in the air, and catches it in his other hand, all without looking. He’s practiced this routine so many times, scarred his hands with a failure so many times, had them fixed and been told to try it again. It’s nothing he can worry about anymore.

The tool, when it lands in his other hand, has its blade pointed outward. He cocks it at an angle.

“And there’s the intimidation to think of. A Null Sector member, as humanoid-looking as I am?”

_THERE WOULD BE RUMORS._

“Most of them terrifying. People might think I'm a defector, or a human taken over by their cybernetics, or...”

He waits for it to pick up the obvious cue, hopes he's not making a mistake in being a little bit dramatic. And, as luck would have it, it responds.

_...SOMETHING WORSE._

He nods. “That’s right.”

Silence again. This Omnic, he notes to himself, didn’t seem to like talking that much - but it seemed to like the idea of being feared. He could work with that type of person quite easily; they were working with each other already, playing a sort of call-and-answer game that he’d set up. He wonders if it’s noticed that he did that, and if it would care  _had_  it noticed.

“It’s your choice,” he prompts, pocketing the knife and spreading his arms again. The hum of the turrets and the Omnic itself is, again, the only noise - and the quiet this time goes on for so long that he begins to be able to pick out individual hums from the crowd.

 _CONSIDER YOURSELF A MEMBER,_  the Omnic finally says.

He stares up at it, and smiles again - it’s a larger smile than before, an ever-so-slightly toothy grin that doesn’t reach to his eyes. This is his final note of the night, his last words before he blends back into the background and makes himself a member of Null Sector.

“Of course. I’ve already started working,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> buhhhhh even reading through this i'm reminded of how dang hard it is to write slate. why does he have to be Like This (it's because it's his job)
> 
> probably more slate stuff if i ever get in the Mood for him again? he's got some cool verses i should work on fleshing out. maybe a scene with talon or smth idk


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